


Anemone's Dew

by lipgloss



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Christmas Carol Fusion, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Gen, M/M, loosely based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:41:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipgloss/pseuds/lipgloss
Summary: A lonely underworld god with a terrible case of anxiety – and his encounter with time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A gift to Dr-hoops-mcswagger for Haikyuu Myth/Fantasy Exchange. 
> 
> Amidst building this world, brick by brick, and to cultivate a story within them has been a wonderful experience for me, I hope it does the same for you. Enjoy.

_i.  Present_

 

Hinata can see that it’s cold tonight; heavy blanket of white covering the town and merely a thin crowd darting around, a hint of urgency in the swing of their steps seeking for warmth either from the safe confine of home in the space inside four walls or in a pair of eyes. Hinata only shivers and it’s not because he is perched three storeys from the ground. He simply hates working on winter nights – Christmas’ Eve, especially. There’s just something odd about festivities that felt especially lonely, and a lot can happen, had witnessed his own fair share, on nights like this. Hinata tugs his coat closer around him and glance down between his legs hanging over the rooftop, swinging to the tune of _All I Want for Christmas Is You_ played from a teahouse across the street on an old radio that spouts out more static than the tunes, and he enjoys the night quietly.

There are times Hinata wishes he has day offs like a nine-to-five worker, or has a company to actually spend the time with. He hasn’t yet made up his mind on the necessary order of his wish list.

‘What’s with the sour face, sweetheart,’ a voice calls out behind him. Hinata turns his head with recognition entwined around his pleased smile. A figure slowly materializes from thin air, shaping into lines of confidence set against a straight back. The mist clears its way for a pair of bright, burning passionate eyes.

Bokuto stood in the middle of open air in his casual clothes; brown long coat over tight-fit, plain grey turtleneck stretching over strong chest and a pair of skinny jeans that hangs just above his ankle. Hinata thinks he looks rather good if he didn’t insist on wearing his headdress with the outfit although he did so with such pride that it slightly dampened Hinata who discard his Atef on his bad hair days. The four feathers, only held in place by the tip end around gold band on Bokuto’s headdress, fluttered with grace by the forlorn howl of wind at the rooftop when Bokuto set it aside.

‘Bokuto-san,’ Hinata greets, toothy grin and rosy cheeks. He scoots a little to make some space for the elder who gladly takes up on the offer. Bokuto’s company is always short but Hinata doesn’t complain. The sky bearer, god of war in flesh, almost certainly doesn’t have a lot of time to spare on babysitting a lonely ruler of the underworld. Hinata is terribly aware of that. He takes what he can have and be content with the weight of a smile and an arm draped over his shoulder. Hinata hums out and leans closer, ‘It’s a nice night, isn’t?’

It really is. The arrays of neon light dotting starry night sky and that bone-deep winter chill seems to bring a merciless profound on cracked asphalt pavements like a burst of art against hard surface. A mundane beauty but lights had always fascinates Hinata.

Bokuto grumbles, disagreeing. ‘Almost too calm. Making me a little antsy.’ He gives a gentle squeeze on Hinata’s shoulder and Hinata hisses, strength digging onto the sharp jut of his shoulder plate and he relaxes. His previous train of thoughts derails and melts away under the reminder of some sort because Bokuto is eerily perceptive at times, reading Hinata like an open book – his dark pages, bled ink and all.

Hinata can’t say he dislike the tranquillity once in a while. Especially when he’s taking in wandering thoughts and integrating them into every fibre of his muscle, the fill swelling in his lungs into an overflowing spill but Bokuto somehow knows anyway.

‘How was your day?’ Hinata inquires.

‘Just normal stuff. An ugly breakout, some scuffle with stuck-up demis, you know, the same old thing.’

‘You sound like you’ve grown tired of _the same old thing_.’ Hinata animates his last few words, drawling a mimicry of dragged, bored tone.

‘Well,’ Bokuto shrugs, ‘it gets repetitive sometimes. But there’s still a charm to it. I just _love_ the whole idea of striking down straight at the heart of matter with my fullest power.’ He throws a punch into the air with a comical grin, stressing on his words as if it’s proof enough and somehow it is for Hinata.

‘That’s so cool, Bokuto-san!’ Hinata laughs, unstoppable, a little comforted. He’s openly amused and Bokuto preens over the praise without missing a single beat as Hinata attempts to catch his breath again. They stays in their huddle; warmth and joyous enthusiasm bubbles between stories drawn by puffs of white condensed breaths slipping behind the scatter of stars, until the horizon is illuminated with glowing orbs of luminous fire floating above the city like lanterns, their each and every distinct colours an artist’s palette mix.

Hinata sighs and pushes himself up, patting dust from the back of his pants. Bokuto follows.

It’s already the time. Bokuto prop himself on his feet and reaches out for the younger. ‘Take it in your own pace, lil’ fighter,’ he bellows with his signature bone-crushing bear hug and he will himself to disintegrate, gives away to the gust of wind like dried dandelion’s tiny wishes. His embrace didn’t loosen until the very last second and what’s left in his place is this jarring emptiness. His words echoes within Hinata like many instantaneous wisdom Bokuto have left him with, time and time again. But, as it was before, he shelves them like a collection – labelled and dusted and cared for – until Hinata grows out to be the person he wants to be, the one who can pull those collection out from its display boxes and marvels them in the cradle of his palm.

‘Now let’s get back to work,’ Hinata breathes out to no one in particular.

He leans forward and forward over the edge and allows himself a fall, the wind rushing in his ears and his orange curls ruffled wildly until his acceleration stop acutely sharp just a couple inch until he is splattered on the pavement. There’s no escaping a judgement nor rushing one but, Hinata believes he is allowed for a little walk before he goes about with his duty.

He does that, taking a walk until his mortal legs ache and the noise in his head quieten down.

\--

_ii. Past_

 

This orb burns weakly at the back alleyway when Hinata found it, a soul of soft lavender shade turning almost white. He remember to be quick, not a second to be waste. Hinata shakes off his mortal skin and after a moment, he is almost done with his judgement – a nice woman of many unspoken regrets, he closes in to that conclusion when her life flashing through him began to turn dim. But nothing ever come simple for Hinata and that isn’t surprising either. He sympathises for her terribly until the very end like an unrelenting wave until he exhaust all of his being.

Tears clung onto his lashes when Hinata holds his hand out. The orb wrap its fiery tendrils around his tapered fingers with little coaxing and suddenly, Hinata can feel her breath and her pulse and the warmth of her skin. It was personal, the whole ordeal is overbearingly so in all the ways he is let into her soul.

It may have been a couple minutes until the judgement fits in its place but it seems that time has stretch into an infinity for Hinata.

‘Hitoka Yachi,’ he whispers finally, groggily, ‘may you find peace in the afterlife.’ Hinata raises his hand and the orb expand and float, a heavy globe of hot gas that bursts into white sparkles raining down over the concrete and Hinata’s snow boots.

His connection with Hitoka evaporates along with her soul and the recoil has his knees buckles, weak.

Hinata staggers, taking in a large gasp of air. Electric burning at his fingertips and exertion chewing at the edge of his consciousness. He shrinks further into his coat as black dots stain his sight. Suddenly the world felt almost too large, like its weight of animosity could cave in and crush him bone to bone. It doesn’t matter that Hinata is aware that he’s perfectly safe from harm – he isn’t left alone trapped underneath ruins of a collapse, knows this crushing pressure is just made up in his head. It still doesn’t make the desperate clawing in his chest any less real. He rests himself weakly against the wall. There’s bile taste rising up in his mouth and his legs are trembling, rendered useless to support his weight any longer as he tries to bulldoze through the wave of his turmoil with sheer tenacity.

Hinata had to remind himself to breathe.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Let the terrible turmoil unknots and spills out with his breaths.

In, and out. Hinata reminds himself.

A movement in the shadow at the corner of his eyes distract Hinata from the building rhythm. Hinata squints hard but still couldn’t manage to make out the shape of the disturbance until it, he, speaks up. ‘You’re okay, kid?’

Hinata scowls, _he’s not a kid_ , but alas he’s too spent to lash back and correct this tall, aloof stranger.

‘I thought you’re a high-schooler,’ the stranger corrects himself. He has his lips set on a contemplative line. It’s neither a smile nor a frown and it puzzles Hinata if the stranger is troubled out of his sensibility or genuine concern. Either way it flares up his ridiculous fear. It didn’t sit quite well to him. He loathes the odd sense of guilt, bothering a random passer-by with his complication before it actually, actually occurs to him—

‘You, you can see me?’ Hinata stutters, brows pinched together in surprise.

No human being could have seen him in his immortal shell. It is never been heard of, and yet here stood someone with a heart still beating who does. Hinata’s anxiety trickles away to make way for this bit of information, wrapping his wild outburst petal by petal until it’s a bud wounded tight again and tucked at the back and out of his mind.

 ‘Am I supposed not to?’ The stranger huffs. His voice tilting a little at the end and the stranger hardened slightly by Hinata’s unwavering stare. Hinata had to admit – interest and admiration aroused all alike – the stranger’s presence didn’t deter at the slightest. He didn’t balk and seem to preen under any scrutiny, full and large and Hinata feels like staring at a faulty mirror. It draws him in towards pitch black, like inky night sky and the stranger’s dark hair, but reflects nothing and he _panics_.

His mortal skin drapes over his shell instinctively and as if on cue, his stomach grumbles disagreeably.

‘Washroom,’ Hinata says, clutching his sides. A fresh tremor slither under his skin and he’s trembling visibly, the aftermath of a breakdown. The thick coat draped over his shoulder did nothing to hide them from prying eyes including an impressionable pair of deep blue the stranger has on him.

‘Pardon?’ There’s finally something, a small confused look, on the stranger’s blankness and Hinata finds a little pleasure tingling at the base of his spine like a voyeur discovering a sunken treasure. But, the urge overpowers his sense.

Hinata doubles over, squeezing his legs together and half shouts, ‘I need to use the washroom.’

‘Oh.’

\--

_iii. Future_

 

‘That’s better,’ Hinata sighs and slinks into the counter, sitting opposite the stranger who had introduced himself as Kageyama on their way to a nearest family restaurant. The only few establishments still open late into the night catering to empty stomach and two wandering kids. They had look like an odd pair, a chirpy middle-schooler with a prune on tow, both ankle-deep in muddy snow and a little too young to be out when the night had bled this much over the town but, the worker had ushered them in when Kageyama sneezed. Hinata caught a couple white-collar worker from the corner of his eyes huddling and half-asleep through their dinner. He clicks his tongue, a man at the table next to them has his candle just a wick away from being snuffed out.

‘Did you take a shit?’ Kageyama mumbles, teething the straw of his milkshake between his sips. 

Hinata stares at him, aghast. ‘You’re so vulgar. Say poop instead.’

‘Are there any different?’ Kageyama shoots back.

‘There are, poop is less gross.’

‘Alright, fine. Why are you taking so long? Did you poop?’

Hinata pokes his tongue out mockingly, ‘Why should I tell you?’ He drums his finger on the table top. The rhythm excited and he leans forward with a grin that might rival the sun of god, Ra, himself. Kageyama goes a little cross-eyed having to look at Hinata being too, so, close that Kageyama can peek into the dip of his collar and trace the boy’s smooth chest a once over. He swiftly raises a hand in front of him and stops Hinata from having him slide off his seat altogether, his face scrunching into a disapproval frown.

Hinata shrugs and plops himself back while Kageyama fixes his posture, straight as a board. He drums his little fingers on the table top again, excitement flaring again like a stubborn fire. ‘So, how can you see me?’ Hinata asks.

‘With my eyes,’ Kageyama deadpans. There’s a streak of red dusk remnant against the apple of his cheek but, if he notices them then he clearly doesn’t pay much attention despite Hinata’s blatant series of stares. Kageyama is still so, so incredibly stagnant but, Hinata doesn’t mind going an extra mile even it led them into a rather one-sided exchange. He enjoys the companionship in whatever form it came, the absence had him grow fond of its sentiment.

‘Not that, dummy.’ Hinata whines, oddly at ease in his own skin. He reaches for the milkshake, snatching the glass lithely right from under Kageyama’s nose. Hinata slurps the drink loudly in childish revenge before Kageyama could lash out. The straw is flatten and littered with teeth marks but, Hinata doesn’t particularly mind if he intend to annoy. ‘You could have been born special. Or a demon, or – wait, wait, you’re dead and your soul are lost?’

‘Are you an idiot?’ Kageyama looks incredulously back at him. He takes his drink back in one swoop and wraps his hand around the glass a little more protectively than he did before. ‘I’m a High Priest,’ he declares proudly.

When Hinata blinks, round and owlish, it isn’t exactly an accusing look but Kageyama reddens. It was a white lie caught red-handed.

‘You’re a priest?’ Hinata asks. He might have been a little out of loop – alright, a lot – from Heaven’s ridiculous, fancy custom but, surely, he’d know if a fellow god had elect a new priest for their House. His House, the Underworld, doesn’t have a High Priest at the moment so Hinata makes it his business to know the other Houses’.

‘Alright. I’m not exactly a High Priest yet.’ Kageyama shrugs his hand randomly in the air as if to wave off something intangible from him. ‘I’m just a trainee. For now.’

‘I see. Who are you training under?’

‘ _Hem-netjer_ Oikawa. He lays his loyalty to the House of Hathor.’

‘I stumbled into him a couple times. Offerings, god weddings. He’s very--,’ Hinata stops to find a word that could sum up a lanky, flamboyant male who serves Hathor, the god of love, like no other before him had done.

‘Um, handful?’ Hinata offers.

‘It’s him, alright.’

‘I heard Oikawa almost never takes apperentice.’

‘Yeah,’ Kageyama scratches his head that doesn’t itch, ‘I have no brother until now.’

‘A lone apprentice. That’s cool,’ Hinata croons, and Kageyama has a slightest idea that anything he said will have Hinata still looking so terribly, terribly impressed at him.

It almost felt nice to be under such high regards.

Kageyama colours again, of apple red and dusted cheeks beneath his heavy gaze. Hinata doesn’t balk from him – well, not as much as Hinata thinks he should with being at the receiving end of such intensity – but, he leans closer. A little fearless, racing in his pulse and Hinata can feel his heart trip once and knocks hard against his ribcage, excitement flaring at the ‘I-dare-you’ hanging between them in a tango they are dancing with their eyes.

A waiter clears her throat. She read the air between them perfectly fine, whatever it is that fits a snarl at the beginning of a fight and hidden camaraderie like a glove but, the intrusion is a job necessity. _Kiyoko_ , spelled the tag pinned slightly crooked on her chest.

‘Do you want to have anything else? It’s the last order.’ Kiyoko smiles, cool and polite that soothes the intrusion wedged out of place between Hinata and Kageyama. Hinata flicks his eyes to Kageyama and the latter shakes his head, slurping on his milkshake.

‘No, thank you. We’re good,’ Hinata says.

Kiyoko nods and proceed to the next table, repeating the question she had asked them. Her presence left them to themselves again and Hinata take his time to glance around the establishment, letting the bubbling air to simmer down. He tugs his sleeves over his palm and fiddles the edges with his fingers. If there’s barely any other customer when they had first step in, now at this late hours it’s scarce.

‘We should probably go.’ Kageyama nudges his glass, still a quarter to go but, he’s already on his feet. He fixes the strap of his bag and his eyes flickers all over the place; ceiling, floor, table and even Kiyoko’s figure retreating into the kitchen yet, not once did his eyes fixes on Hinata.

‘Let’s meet up again,’ Hinata offers, extending an invitation to Kageyama – of friendship, surely, of something more, if he hadn’t read things wrong. Kageyama takes a little time for himself and Hinata didn’t mind, seeing the gears working in his head. It wasn’t wise to befriend, much less if it’s the underworld god – Hinata’s sure he wouldn’t win a popularity vote if those Egyptian gods ever decided to hold one.

‘Sure,’ Kageyama hesitates, stumbling with his words. ‘I’d love to.’

‘See you later then.’ Hinata grins. He has something to tell Bokuto the next time they meet.

\--

Crescent moon fills the night sky gradually to a full circle then, chips away into nothingness and the cycle repeats – there isn’t a next time, for them, for a long time.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, in the end, they meet again.

‘Don’t slouch, Kageyama,’ Iwaizumi chides, glaring at the corner of his eyes and Kageyama straightens. The elder smiles, pleased and Kageyama almost released his breathe when a cane taps his back and he’s stiff as a board.

‘Don’t slouch.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Kageyama mumbles and fiddles with his robe, the apprentice’s rope, worn and frayed thread at the edges of his sleeve. But, it will be his last day wearing them if a god would just, like, chose him and they will, Kageyama can feel it in him. He looks around at the myriad colours of robes but, apprentices’ nevertheless, and all accompanied by their mentor. His face falls, only a little, brow drooping.

‘Why’s _Hem-netjer_ Oikawa not here?’

‘Oh, you know he’s proud of you,’ Iwaizumi replies and a second after, in a whisper, ‘he better be.’

Kageyama breathes out, once. This is good; it’s a nice footing, he won’t trip.

A man passes them briskly like a gentle gush of spring, tickling the newcomer’s charcoal black hair swept to the side over droopy eyes, so, so impassive that Kageyama didn’t think better of it before he realized in horror. _No, it’s not a man_ , Kageyama pauses, _it’s the god of protection, Wadjet but not quite him either_ – it was his mortal form, Ennoshita, and the god’s eyes swept over them. His gaze meet Iwaizumi’s and the two spoke, of a silent language and shaky irises. Ennoshita breaks it first, almost dutifully, his steps neat and poised and a green serpent slithering between his ankles until he graciously descend onto his throne along with the others of his rank.

Wadjet – _no, Ennoshita_ – is gracing the Hall of Old Gods with his presence in mortal skin. He lowered his status and present himself in a vulnerable body that feels hunger and pain and loneliness for one man to see while he’s in the eyes of many.  Kageyama looks almost crushed if he was capable of schooling his expression into pity. He opens his mouth, comforting words, something—but, Iwaizumi cuts him off first.

‘Be on your best, Kageyama. Appeal the god and be a High Priest,’ _or you’ll end up like me,_ is a silence that hangs heavily between them. Iwaizumi raises his cane and taps Kageyama on his back. ‘Don’t slouch.’

The ritual starts, hushed energy thrumming in the air, unmanned House proceeds one after the other with naming fresh apprentices as their House’s new High Priest. Kageyama did not slouch for even a fraction of a second, couldn’t afford to, yet, his name hasn’t rung once in the massive hall. The Main House of Ra, the house Kageyama set his eyes on had went for an excited man sporting a bowl-cut, and his chance is slowly dawdling with every echoes of names that isn’t his. Ennoshita had taken a look at Iwaizumi, raises his hand and announces his house would continue be unmanned for another moon year.

Kageyama swallows hard in between the _‘No house need a self-centred priest,’_ and the, _‘You’re a priest, for Hathor’s sake. Not playing king,’_ bouncing around in his head. His eyes stung. It isn’t tears. Kageyama had trace the stinging pain all the way to the depth of his chest, nestling cold against his rib cage. This is all he has left, everything he has put his eyes, his sweat and blood to and there is no next time. The next lunar he would be over an apprentice’s age. He would serve the temple, the mundane of everyday with Iwaizumi, never to brush hands alongside the gods.

‘Stick your chin up,’ Iwaizumi whispers, snapping Kageyama from his building thoughts and he stares blankly at Iwaizumi. He drew out certainty from the proud shoulder of a man who had lost and still clawed his way through. Kageyama shakes his head, shrugging the insecurities nipping at the stable ground he had set his foot on. He has something, this sliver feeling of a part of something big, to prove and he wants more than anything to make it more than the plaything of his slumber, and he prayed. He prayed harder than he ever did in his life.

Iwaizumi does to, in his own way, by his tight grip around his cane.

‘House of Osiris,’ a small voice piques after one house, Kageyama didn’t notice whose, passes for another unmanned moon year, ‘the Underworld will for a priest.’

_Hinata—_

Kageyama snaps his head to the thrones but, a man of warm silver and warmer smile meets his eyes instead. A cloud of whispers discriminatively erupt around Kageyama, the hushed _dirty god_ and distasteful scoff of _underworld._ Kageyama instinctively glares at the floor that a few handful around him tenses, his aura curling around them like statics and shutting them up with distressing prowess. Iwaizumi simply smirks at the incidental leak of Kageyama’s essence, entirely unbothered.

‘Such a disgrace,’ Ra says as he leans onto the armrest. His skin glows with the heat of the sun, a hue of reddish orange covering him head to toe and he growls, ‘Sending a messenger to God’s meeting. Who does Osiris thinks he is?’ His voice booms in the hall and the temperature rises that Kageyama felt bullets of sweat running down his back.

The man, Osiris’ messenger, simply turns a deaf ear, quite literally so as he turns his back on him. ‘Osiris names Kageyama Tobio to rise into rank under the House of Underworld,’ he announces in crisp, clear voice and Kageyama raises his head. He blinks at the man, a little too stupefied, his eyes softening at the edges.

‘Tobio,’ Iwaizumi calls, for once, squeezing Kageyama’s shoulder and the glow of _you did it, you’ve done it_ in his eyes.

‘I-,’ Kageyama croaks, testing his voice. ‘I lay my loyalty to Osiris and his House.’

\--

‘Welcome to my humble abode.’ A stature familiar to Kageyama leaps in front of him, bright orange hair rustled by the wind and Kageyama held back the twitch in his fingers to run them through the soft locks.

‘Hinata,’ Kageyama begins.

‘It’s been a long time,’ Hinata replies. ‘I’m looking forward to work with you.’

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave some thoughts on the comment and kudos, lovelies. Also, I'm on twitter; @cactiwoes, if you need a screaming partner.


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